For the past four days I've had a really nasty gastrointestinal bug. I think the 4th of July doesn't like me, because this is the third one in a row that I've missed.
Anyway, this evening I felt well enough to sit outside and watch the sun set behind the ridge as I listened to a symphony provided by nature.
Our creek has stopped using its noisy, rushing, roaring voice of spring which sometimes grates on my ears. It is now speaking in soothing liquid gurgles, punctuated by the occasional loud, joyful "PLASH!" as it leaps off a rock to continue its downward flow to the lake.
A gentle breeze wends its way though the pines, cedars, dogwoods and oaks, coaxing a comment from each branch it touches. Every tree has its own distinctive voice; the pines and cedars speak in a soft susurrant rush, while the oaks and dogwoods speak in a quiet swish and rustle.
The birds are making their last visit of the day to our feeders. I can hear their various trills, warbles, chirps, and whortlings as they reach their homes. The last rays of the sun are gilding the tops of the tallest pines on the ridge behind me when I hear the high, lonely call of a hawk far above me. I look up to see it riding the thermals, its feathers blazing red and gold against the deep purple blue sky.
I feel so blessed to live here. Later, hopefully, I will feel well enough to go down to the lake and watch La Luna pour her silver light on the water.
A brief domestic interlude
1 hour ago